urroundings? It is because I do not
really live among them. My mind is alien to these narrow margins of
society and religion. But it is always of the little forest that I tell
you, as if that were my real home, as indeed it is. And it is the dearer
to me now that we have walked through it together. So in each letter you
may expect a report of how things go there. This morning, as I looked
about at the sober ground covered thick with dying leaves, I thought of
what a gallant display of autumnal colors we had on that morning. Our
little friends of the summer time are flitting here and there through the
naked branches in silent confusion. There are no green boughs behind which
to conceal their orchestral moods. Besides, their inspiration is gone,
their singing hearts are benumbed by the cold. But for your letter thrust
somewhere I could not have escaped the ghost of sadness that seemed to
haunt the earth and sky. Suddenly, as I stood in the midst of it all, a
cardinal flashed like a red spark into a tall pine, fluffed out his
breast, and swept the forest with a defiant note of melody. It was a
challenge to the long winter time, a prophecy of spring and of high green
trees, and of a mate cloistered now far away in the wilderness: "You shall
not hear a simple song, but you shall remember that music is the voice of
love," whispered the letter against my heart. What a brave thing is life
when we have love and the hope of spring latent within us! I admit, as I
listened to the little red troubadour of the pine, that, had you been as
near as the dreams and fancies that wrapped me about, this fight in me for
freedom would have been at an end. Do not trust these feeble moods of
mine, however; not one of them would last half the length of time you
would need to make the journey from New York to Morningtown!

So! you have written such a review of Miss Addams's book as will astonish
the "average reader," and all the while you wondered: "How will Jessica
answer that?" Abridged, this is her opinion: That an editor should be
careful how he kicks his heels at the spirit of his age. The world has an
ancient and effective way of dealing with such heroes.

No, I am not familiar with the _Imitation_. But I gather from the passages
you quote that it is a spiritual exercise prepared for those who "possess
all the comforts of this life," and are weary enough of them to pass on to
the philosophy of renunciation. But you should remember that the
H